X

I wake up and I want to die. Maybe a couple of weeks ago it would've been a foreign occurrence, but by now I've just given up all hope.

The 21st Games just ended, and we're in the off-season where I serve a family instead of serving a Capitol. And I get the honor of serving the President's brother and his family. Wonderful.

They don't respect me at all, they treat me like I'm a cis girl, and the worst, oh yes, the worst, is their nickname for me…

I get up and get dressed and brush my teeth. I'd much rather be on the run, eating mice roasted over a fire than be here. The pain of losing Glitch (and knowing it was all my fault he's gone) is one that stings each and every morning that I wake up, and this morning is no exception.

If only I hadn't been dumb and gotten caught. To be honest, I'm surprised I survived five whole years without as much as the scars that ruined my face. Maybe they would've been less permanent if I hadn't stitched them up myself, but I don't like to dwell on that.

I stare in the mirror, having given up on trying for a braid and just put my hair into a tight bun. I stare at my reflection disdainfully. My cheeks are too chubby and rosy. The two scars that have defined me as a person for years and years are just as ugly and gnarly as I remember them to be. I used to hope that they'd get better, but I know that's never happening.

There's a permanent imprint on my lip that makes it crooked. I don't even smile without remembering how ugly it is. It takes a lot of energy out of you when you're reminded of terrible memories when you're smiling. Maybe someday something or someone will make me happy so much I forget to be embarrassed. I doubt that'll happen in this lifetime, though.

I button up the white uniform and feel overwhelmingly dysphoric. I just want to break away, be a man, and live happily with my male pronouns. I know eventually I'll get back into the female stuff, but right now I just feel damn dysphoric and insecure.

I go out to the kitchen to prepare breakfast for my masters.

The whole nickname shit started with the little girl they have, Evangeline. My first assignment was to be her nurse. She actually liked me, I guess, because when they had their share of family time she kept shouting, "Chubby! I want chubby!"

"Evangeline's right, Leopold, she really is pudgy."

"Oh, my dear Sedienta, don't you worry a second. All she needs is the correct diet."

That's why I don't get breakfast like some of the other Avoxes. I bid a curt good morning to the others before I do my duties, not even looking up at the others. I hear the parents coming out first, in their bathrobes and slippers. Leopold is a fat man with bright pink hair and a reddish skin tone. His wife, Sedienta, is tall and skinny with green-tinted skin, a bird-noise, and short, dark green hair.

The kids are slightly more tolerable, but not by much. The youngest is a blonde girl with bright green eyes named Evangeline, the one who gave me the nickname I despise. Since then, she's gotten attached to a different Avox and I've been moved to cleaning duty instead.

Then there are the boys. Britton is 12 and obsessed with the Games. His hair is blonde with blue highlights, and he has naturally bright blue eyes. His room is full of plastic weapons from his favorite Games, posters and pictures of Victors, interviewers, Gamemakers. He's even designed a couple Arenas of his own, that hang up on his wall. He's rowdy and energetic, and sometimes he asks me to play mutts when he and his friends imagine Hunger Games. He asks frequently about my scars, often forgetting that I can't communicate with him.

The other boy is 18, and his name is Watson. He attends college in the days and comes back in the evenings. He's more introverted, quiet, and likes to spend his time with his notebook. He has bright yellow hair and prefers glasses to contacts. That's really all I know about him.

I fry some eggs for the family and a couple that the other Avoxes are going to share. I steal little bites as I go, knowing it's the only breakfast I'm gonna get.

I serve the breakfast, trying to ignore the eyes that are on me. Then, the other Avoxes go to their room to eat and I do the dishes, as is normal for every morning in this household.

"Good eggs!" says someone in the other room.

"I think they're all burnt and awful," Britton says.

"I like them like that."

"Ew! Yucky Eggs!" squeals Evangeline.

I sigh, knowing that I can't cook.

I pick some scraps for myself before it comes time to do our daily work. It's terrible and exhausting work, but at least it's something to pass the time. I clean Evangeline's room well enough for it to pass the white glove test. Then I move on to Britton's. It takes forever because he's got so much stuff. I clean his toys, dust his models and walls, and everything else in there. I pick up his dirty laundry and vacuum his floors.

Then, I go on to Watson's room. It's usually the easiest of the three, but today the floor is littered with dirty clothes. I sigh and pick up his clothes, dusting and vacuuming, and putting things back in the drawers where they belong. When I organize his desk, though, I find something odd.

In loopy, elegant handwriting, it says: To the lovely Avox with the red hair and the scars:

My heart drops to the pit of my stomach and my ears burn with embarrassment.

Meet me out in the courtyard tonight at 11.

I quickly crumple up the piece of paper. Why would he want anything with me!? This has got to be a mistake!

But, if it's not, then…. Those are direct orders from a master. And I can't really say no to them.

I get back to cleaning, my heart deep in my stomach and not sure what to feel. Excited? Flattered? Nervous?

I guess I'll just have to wait and see what happens.

.

Once I'm released from my daily duties, I retire to my room before I remember that I still have somewhere to go.

I sneak outside to the garden in the moonlight, biting my lip nervously. Every instinct I've ever had is enflamed. This is a bad idea.

I'm about to turn around when I hear a voice beckoning from the fountain up ahead. "You showed up."

I catch up with him, biting my nails nervously. He tucks a flower behind my ear and takes my hand, bringing it to his lips gently. "What's your name?" he asks, sitting on the fountain. I don't know how I'm supposed to answer until he holds a notebook and a pen out to me.

I sink down next to him, taking the pen and writing with my terrible handwriting, Fujita.

"Fujita?" I nod a little bit. He smiles and reach around me, undoing the bun in my hair and letting it down free. I blush, feeling pretty embarrassed as he runs his fingers through it.

"That's nice. I'm getting ready to spread my wings, and I might need an Avox or two of my own…" he trails off, glancing at me. I break eye contact.

To be honest, I don't really think I deserve to be looked at like this. I don't think I deserve much but contempt. I've been through too much for that.

Besides, he doesn't even know me. He thinks that I'm a girl that got in a hard situation. He doesn't know what I really am. I'm not just a girl, I'm more than that. And I am a criminal, after all.

I can't do much for you. I have to be honest. I mean, I can't cook to save my life and I can't even clean that well, really. Besides, I'm only stationed here until it's time to start preparing for the 22nd Hunger Games, so I can watch some more of the people I talked to go into the Arena and die.

"Sure you can. Don't underestimate yourself."

I'm only here for a couple more weeks anyways.

He glances up at me, tweaking his glasses. He looks mystified, and I feel very unworthy of his affectionate gaze.

"Then I guess we'll just have to make the next couple weeks count." He smiles at me, and I can barely make myself smile back.

He kisses my hand and drops my hand, a small smile on his face. Then he goes back off to the house.

I try to stop blushing as I go back to the Avox complex made for us. Nobody cares when I sneak back in and go to bed, and I like it better that way.

Not sure what to do or think, I fall asleep.

~.~.

So, things go just about as shitty as normal after that, and soon I decide to just forget anything ever happened.

It's another old night, exactly a week before I'm due in to serve for the 22nd Hunger Games. And I just go on with my normal duty, when I notice some of the other Avoxes helping Watson pack his bags with his family.

"Which Avoxes are you taking along with you, Watson?" Leopold asks.

"I want Leo."

"And?"

"I want Chubby as well."

My heart swells with anger. I shouldn't have opened up, and I should've been smarter.

"You know that we have direct orders from my brother that this Avox never leave this house!"

"I don't care. Dad, it's a prize, a trophy. C'mon, how cool would it be to tell all my friends that I've got the one and only Fujita Halifex!? Everyone watched the Arachnid Trials."

"Well… My brother gave orders. Besides, she leaves next week to do her Games stuff."

"Fine. Then I'll just take Elena. At least she's got big boobs."

I don't want to hear the rest of the conversation, so I turn around and get back to my daily chores, temperature rising from rage.

~.~.

And just like that, I go back to them normal routine.

Every day hurts more than the day before it. Watching people die, and knowing exactly why they died, and that it was my fault, has left a scar deeper and uglier and more lasting than any of the ones scattered around my body. A seed of self-hated has grown and flourished, thanks to the tender-loving-care of the President and his associates.

I serve quietly, I feel dysphoric at least once a day, and I just keep on moving forward, living through it.

At least on the run I could be who I wanted to be. Not to mention that I could talk. Anything would be better than this. I'm nothing but a pawn, a trophy, an object to show off to people.

I walk past the training center, remembering where I saw Glitch there, doing the berry tests. I remember it so clearly even though it's been a whole year since it happened.

When I help the boy from 3 tie his bowtie, he thanks me, and gets yelled at by his escort for thanking an Avox, as if even looking at us is one of the seven deadly sins. He had such a gentle look in his eyes, as well.

I do my work, not looking up. I don't want to look at the tributes, and I don't want anyone to notice me. I've let my guard down way too much. I don't ever want it to be let down again, not even for a split second.

Everything I see was only put in front of my eyes to hurt me, anyways. What's the point of even pretending that is isn't anymore?

I go about my business with a quiet dignity. I may be miserable, but nobody else can know that. I have to be the strength and defiance that I've always been. I'll never let them win. I'll never let my own self-loathing engulf me, no matter how bad it gets.

At least I got this far, I think each and every day. One day closer to the embrace of death and being put out of my misery. One day closer to the people I've lost. I just have to keep on trudging through, taking their beating, and judgement.

The 22nd Games come and go, the Victor ends up dead by the 23rd. The 23rd Games go by, and so do the 24th. The twenty-fifth, which ends up being called the Quarter Quell, shakes the whole nation by forcing teens to vote others into the Arena. How sadistic can these people get!?

I watch the playback of the reapings on the TV the night before my death-date. The tributes look like walking corpses, dead inside before they were ever in the Arena. I can see why, as well. Nice to know that your whole District hates you. When they show the last flashes of tributes, I wish them all the best of luck.

I wish I could tell you where you go when you die. But wherever it is, I'll meet 23 of you there.

.

The next day, time seems to lag. Nothing really feels real.

I have a last breakfast of the scraps I can get. I go about my daily chores by myself, with just me and my heartbeat to guide me.

I have a piece of lettuce for lunch. Then, around 4 or so, they're calling for me. The other Avoxes pretend not to notice me leaving.

When I'm lead out to the parlor, the president is standing in the doorway, surrounded by Peacekeepers. He's smiling, but I'm not fooled. My mouth turns into a crooked scowl.

"Good afternoon, Miss Halifex."

I scowl even deeper. If I could, I would bombard him with insults and snarky comments. Instead I just cross my arms.

"Come now," he says, "All criminals must pay their price." He starts walking and I follow him, keeping my arms crossed. What kind of life have you lived when you're excited to be executed?

I walk with him, and he goes into the Tribute Center. I follow slowly.

"You're quite familiar with this building, now aren't you, Little Miss?" Every time he says that word I get more and more angry. He goes into an elevator and I follow, refusing to look at him.

"I really don't want to do this to you, but I can't say you didn't bring it upon yourself. Everyone you've associated with has been terminated, and now we will eliminate the root of the problem.

"I hope you enjoy your final moments," he says, with a smile. "I have to go to the observation deck, but you can make yourself at home. He leaves. I look around me and see the room full of different torture devices. He can't make me use these.

Suddenly the door opens and I see two Peacekeepers that are there to carry it out for me.

I don't remember the next couple of seconds, and I don't think I want to. Different devices used to stretch me, impale me, and cut me up. Little X's cut all up my arms and legs and neck and stomach and breasts and all over my face. Dripping blood, stinging pain, ambushed screams from the back of my throat tearing out.

They leave me laying there and bleeding out. I close my eyes, feeling light-headed.

I'm coming back to you, Arachnid. After everything, I'm coming back.

I focus less on the pain, and soon it becomes easy to slip into Death's overarching arms.